


The Mallorn Tree

by undomiel (small_flower)



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief, Grieving, Lothlórien, M/M, Pre-Relationship, What happens in Lorien stays in Lorien, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:33:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23353243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/small_flower/pseuds/undomiel
Summary: Gimli is missing for dinner, and Legolas finds him lost in the woods.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 5
Kudos: 126





	The Mallorn Tree

“Legolas! You’re back!” 

Four hobbit-heads looked up to greet the elf when he climbed into the tent where the Fellowship rested for their stay in Lothlorien. Boromir and Aragorn looked up from their conversation to nod in greeting. “How was your walk?” Aragorn asked, turning to face the elf. 

“Peaceful. I have missed being among the woods of the elves,” he replied, sitting down at a table. He glanced at the hobbits and noticed that Pippin was already eyeing his basket with eager anticipation. Legolas put it on a table and drew back the cloth that covered it, revealing a small feast with a delicious aroma. 

“I come bearing gifts,” he grinned. At once everyone had gathered around the table, even the Men, a hungry look in their eyes. 

“Here is some waybread made with the secret recipe known only to Lorien elves,” he said, taking out a few square-shaped bundles bound in long, green leaves. “And here are some buttered scones and blackberry jam, made according to your instructions, Sam,” Legolas added, taking out a handful of scones. Immediately the hobbits scrambled for them, while Legolas unpacked the rest of the meal: roasted lamb, rhubarb pie, mulled ale, and steaming tea in a teapot adorned with gold leaves. 

“Where’s Gimli?” Legolas asked, looking around. There was no sight of the dwarf in the tent.

“He’s out for a walk,” Pippin said, spraying bits of scone everywhere. “Do you know how much butter they added in this? It’s very light.” 

“Back in the Shire we add a generous amount of butter, so it gets dense but not too dense, and our jam is usually thicker, too,” Merry added, though he reached for a second scone. 

“But these go well with the tea,” Frodo said quietly, trying to be polite. Boromir laughed. “We are in a time of war, little ones. One cannot blame the elves for rationing their supplies. It’s a wonder they had these made at all!” 

“Why don’t you join us, Legolas?” he called to the elf, who was the only one unseated still, a perturbed look on his face. “There’s plenty for everyone. Or did you already eat on the way back?” Legolas shook his head, his frown growing deeper. 

“I’ll be back,” he mumbled. “I’m going to look for Gimli.” 

“Alright then, we’ll save some for you!” Merry said cheerily. “Provided that _someone_ doesn’t eat it all first,” he added with a pointed look at Pippin, making everyone laugh as Legolas left the tent. 

Aragorn watched him leave with a thoughtful look in his eyes. 

**-**

As far as he was concerned, trees were trees, and they were similar to a fault: the fault being that Gimli was lost in them. 

Having lived in the caves his whole life, Gimli knew his way around them as good as any miner in Erebor. Stone had a nuance to it, and no carving or construction would ever be identical, no matter how skilled the crafter is. It took two or three trips and an observant eye to exactly pinpoint where one was at. Being lost simply wasn’t an option in the mines, when tunnels could collapse, or caverns left forgotten for years on end. For their sake, they had to know their way.

The tales spun of the reclamation of Moria were so glorious that for a moment Gimli believed them to be true. A royal welcome by a blazing fire, good meat, singing songs of old, seeing the construction of the dwarves that came before him. Although Balin never wrote to Erebor, hope had been kindled in the dwarves’ heart that one day they may see the ancient kingdom of Khazad-dum alive once more. 

To have believed in those tales was one thing. To see them unfulfilled was another.

The Fellowship was changed ever since they entered through the Hollin Gate and exited on the other side. It was the first time a separation felt final, the first of many in the days to come. Although hobbits were mortal, most deaths they had experienced were by elderly who had lived life out to the fullest. An unexpected departure, before the time was ripe, weighed on hearts differently. They wept as they walked. Jokes were thrown around no more. 

Men accepted loss quietly, having weathered many untimely deaths in their times of service. But they, too, were changed: a solemn air now hung upon them, and especially on Aragorn: it was now his burden to keep up morale and inspire hope, when hope itself was lost with Gandalf. 

Gandalf. The thought of the name tasted bitter on Gimli’s tongue. It was foreign, seasoned with the weight of death. It weighed all the more heavy on his heart now. 

At least dwarrow knew grief. Gimli knew that with time the feeling would subside, and loss would fuel mettle as death was avenged with victory. But the elf had never seen grief before. 

He remembered the look on Legolas’ face the most, because though it was the most guarded, it held the most pain. There was confusion in his eyes when he first felt the wrench in his heart. There were tears in his eyes when he first heard the mourning song the elves sang for the wizard. How could one bear with the grief of mortality when they only knew immortality? Gimli worried for Legolas, but he could never bring himself to say it. He pitied the elf, for even though Legolas had weathered many storms of the waking world he had not felt it for himself, until now. 

The thought of shared grief was comforting, at least. He was not the only one who thought of Gandalf and wept over him, and his pain was met with sympathy, if not understanding. But there was another grief that weighed on Gimli’s heart alone, unknown to the Fellowship. 

Moria. Khazad-dum. Once the pride of his people, now a barren tomb. 

-

“My friend. Are you lost?” 

Gimli looked up from his knees to find Legolas peering around a tree. “It takes more than a maze of trees to leave a dwarf lost in the woods,” he said, drawing a deep breath as he did. Legolas tilted his head in confusion. 

“You look perfectly lost in thought, and you cannot deny that.”

“Thought, aye. I think more than I fight these days.” Gimli stood up, brushing himself off curtly. “I did not realise that it was getting late. Let’s return to camp.” Without another glance at Legolas he quickly walked ahead.   
  


“Gimli, wait.” Legolas said gently, stopping the dwarf. “The night is young. Will you walk with me?” 

“That depends,” Gimli muttered. “Are there elves staring at us through the trees?”

“Yes,” Legolas said, and he laughed at the look on Gimli’s face. “There are always elves, my friend. But they mean no harm, and they will not intrude.” 

“Very well then.” Though the notion of being watched by elves was the most unappealing to Gimli, he found himself agreeing to Legolas’ request. 

“The moon is high tonight,” Legolas observed lightly as they began to weave through the trees. “Take no offence, Gimli, but I am fonder of the open sky of the night than the darkness of the caves.” Gimli snorted. “Of course you would say that, elf. But you have not yet seen how the glowing crystals cast shadows onto the stone faces of the dwarves, or how the mithril sparkles in the caves, or how the mirrors light the path in a most complex pattern! There is much I would have shown you…” 

“You hurt,” Legolas said in realisation. “Forgive me, I did not know.” 

Gimli made no reply as they walked. After a while Legolas spoke again.

“What say you of grief, Gimli?” 

“I cannot describe it to you, nor can I tell you how I feel. It is too much all at once.” He kicked a stone along the path they walked. “Too many thoughts. Too many voices. Too many names.” 

Legolas’ hand brushed against the trees they passed. “I cannot think of anything but the sorrow in my heart. I do not see as much as you, nor do I carry a burden as heavy as yours, but my mind ever dwells on it, day and night.” 

Gimli sighed. “It is never easy, such a thing as grief. You will soon learn to wield it, master elf.”

“But I do not wish to fight,” Legolas murmured. “Not while we are in Lothlorien, at least. I wish to heal, and for the most part these lands have granted my wish.” 

“You mean to say you feel better?”

“Aye.” Legolas paused to examine a leaf that had fallen from a tree. “Even the darkest nights are beautiful in the realm of Galadriel. The stars shine like the white gems of my homeland, ever watching, ever near and dear to my heart. It soothes the worst of the pains.”

“Good for you,” Gimli grunted. 

“You are not comforted by the woods?” Legolas turned in surprise. 

“It is quiet, but it is not peaceful.”

“I am sorry.” Legolas placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort. Gimli covered his hand with his own. 

“Don’t be, elf. The woods do not comfort me, but I can say now that your presence does.”

Legolas paused. Up until then he and Gimli had enjoyed a friendly banter, but never once had either of them admitted that they enjoyed being with each other. He felt the wind murmur against his ears, and his heart quickened.

“Do you mean that, Gimli?”

Realising what he had said, a small flush came to Gimli’s face, and he withdrew his hand. “Well - yes. Perhaps. It is less of a burden when the mourning is shared. Yet I cannot imagine sharing my grief with anyone but you.” 

“And neither do I, _mellon-nin_ ,” Legolas said quickly. Of all the things Gimli would judge an elf for, somehow he knew that his feelings were not one of them. That brought him comfort. 

Gimli’s gaze softened. “I am grateful to hear that.”

“My friend,” Legolas began, and he revelled in the newfound weight of the word _friend_ . “You could not show me the realm of the Dwarves, the crown jewel of your lands, but I can show you _my_ realm. I cannot say that it would comfort you, but perhaps it would take your mind off things. May I?” He held out his hand for Gimli, and shuddered at the feeling of his calloused grasp. 

“You may.”

-

“So these are trees and trees and more trees. How is it special in any way, pray tell?”

“Nay, Gimli, you don’t understand!” Legolas laughed as they paused beneath a tree. “This is a mallorn tree, soon to grow to the strength at which it will serve the Galadhrim as a watchtower or a home.” Softly he rested his hands on the bark. “This silvery wood is beautiful, coveted for woodworking. They are soft but tough, and they do not splinter easily. It bends beautifully into a bow fit for any archer, yet it has the strength within it to form the steadying grip of a spear. It is delicate for carving, and forms the most detailed shapes, yet it grows high and tall into the sky, where the Galadhrim guard the city. How I long to craft with this wood!”

“What are we waiting for?” Gimli cried eagerly. “I have an axe, and though it is not made for trees I suppose it will hew it down one way or another.”

At once Legolas’s arm flew around the tree in protection. “Nay, Gimli, we cannot! The wood belongs to the realm of Lothlorien, where it has flourished and will continue to serve the elves who live here. It can only be bestowed upon you as a gift, from the Lady Galadriel herself.”

“I suppose one tree wouldn’t hurt, among the many that grow here. Or at least a few branches.” Gimli mumbled, though he cast down his axe.

“Gimli, Gimli! Every tree has a life, will you take it away so rashly, as if it were any orc or goblin? They are beautiful and good, equal to the lives you see standing and before you.” 

“Do not underestimate the livelihood of trees, my friend. If you reach out to it, it will speak to you. See.” With that, he took Gimli’s hand and pressed it to the silvery bark of the tree. 

“I hear nothing --”

“Hush! Don’t speak. _Feel_.” 

Gimli drew a deep breath, and he felt his heart still. At once he felt a force of life seeping through his fingertips and up his arm, strong and tender, golden like the flowers on its branches, warm like sunlight but distant yet the moon, leaving him with a mystic sensation. For a moment he felt like he was back in the caves again, his hands against the stone warmed by the distant fumes of the forge, the very same stones that led the way wherever he went. Softly he withdrew his hand and pressed it against his heart. His eyes closed for a lingering moment, and when they opened again there was peace in his eyes. 

“Do you understand now, Gimli?”

“Not entirely, I’m afraid, master elf,” he said. “But I know that for a moment my soul cried out to the Mallorn trees of the Elves and they responded in kind, and for that I will consider that the healing of the elves has been extended to even the bane of their kind -- a dwarf. Perhaps that is the thing of beauty in these lands.”

“The life of these trees come from that of the Lady,” Legolas murmured. 

“All the more reason why they are beautiful,” Gimli responded. 

When Legolas turned to face his friend, he found that tears had begun to stain his face, and he made no attempt at rubbing them away. 

“Gimli…” 

The moonlight was misty that night, setting a glowing haze upon the forest. The darkest part of the night was over, and it now waited for dawn. Legolas climbed atop the tree as Gimli sat beneath it, and in that way, they met each other’s eyes. 

“What shall we do when we leave this place?” Legolas mused quietly. “I fear the grief would creep up again, when there are no comforting forests to get lost in.”

“It will always resurface,” Gimli let out a long, heavy sigh. “But perhaps it will not be as unbearable with you by my side.” 

“Agreed.” Legolas ran his hand up and down the branch he sat on, feeling its smoothness beneath his fingers. Beneath him, Gimli’s eyes began to droop.

“Shall we return?”

“Nay, perhaps not tonight,” Gimli said. “I wish to sit here, for a while.”

“A dwarf among trees, by his own will?” Legolas teased him, and Gimli gave a soft harrumph. 

“If not for the war, perhaps I would not ever leave this realm,” he said in earnest. 

“I wouldn’t either,” Legolas smiled. 

-

“Where have you been? The scones would have gone stale if you returned as late as you did!” Merry chided the pair as they walked into camp, not long before mid-day. 

“To save you the disappointment, I ate them for you,” Pippin added.

“We were walking,” Gimli said with a smile on his face. “Legolas showed me the trees.”

“Oh, do tell,” Sam said eagerly. Gimli sat cross-legged, Legolas beside him, and began to speak to the hobbits. 

“Trees? What’s so special about trees?” Boromir muttered to Aragorn, out of earshot of the others. 

Aragorn shook his head as he smoked his pipe, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “It is said that the Mallorn tree can heal many things, and reform bonds that were broken long ago. I wonder if Master Legolas and Master Gimli realise its effects upon them, even at this very moment.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope this brought you a bit of entertainment in social distancing :)
> 
> If you would like to support my work, click [here!](https://www.buymeacoffee.com/i5IDq2F) It would mean a lot during these times. <3


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